CHAPTER 2: The Age of Hypocrisy (1)

The noisy square was teeming with countless human figures. The blurry shadows passing each other looked like the formation flight of migratory birds across the sky.

But for me, it was quieter.

No matter the reason, they all had their own destination and were moving towards it.

That's why I was isolated from that square.

The saying goes; since the aimless ghost could not blend into the square, it gave up its heavenly throne to the moon and watched the sun sink beyond the horizon.

For London, a city where the sun never rises, the brightest star in a clear sky, which is extremely rare, has to be neither too dazzling nor too dark at the last moment of its exit. A ball of light, fluttering like a glass full of mead, dyed the gray world a sad red as if it was giving the day's final consideration, and the golden sunset gave light to all beings equally, wrapping everyone's silhouettes in golden silk.

In a dazzling twilight landscape, day and night intersect, light and darkness intersect, and the sun and moon intersect.

"Master, you are here?"

"Indeed, I am Layla."

A young girl dressed as a maid bowed her head politely. Her brown hair was disheveled, a testament of the work she'd been occupied with, but her big green eyes were sparkling with curiosity nonetheless.

"Where is mother?"

"Ma'am is praying."

I nodded.

A devout Catholic that woman is.

My mother, a French countess who came from Normandy to England, to escape the madness that struck all nobles during the French Revolution, fell in love with my father, whom she met at that time.

The two of them were happily married. If my father had not been killed in the war against Napoleon Bonaparte when I was very young, they would have continued to be happy.

In a family without a father, my mother, a countess, did not have much wealth, so the family fortunes were declining, and since I was born into such a family, I can't help but feel sense of responsibility to do something.

What would you do if you were a viscount (the eldest son of a nobleman holding a title was called a title one grade lower than the eldest son of a nobleman at the time? In the case of an earl's eldest son, it was a viscount, and in the case of a duke's eldest son, it was a marquess). I have no property. Ownership of the estate? They say it was completely confiscated by the revolutionary government.

I received compensation later, but it was barely enough to live on while maintaining my reputation as a nobleman.

Because it was such a situation, I started writing.

And, in a world where Arthur Conan Doyle had not yet been born, what was there for me to write about but Sherlock Holmes.

I took out the box office cheque, and professionally analyzed the money I made.

"Layla, I'm going to work, so take out the inkwell and paper and leave them on my desk. Also change the pen nib."

"Right away sir! And what about your meals?"

"What about them?"

"Oh, well… that's … it's just that I haven't cleaned up your desk yet…"

"Do it now."

After receiving the instructions, Layla quickly went to work, whilst I went to see mother.

"Mother."

"Oh, it's you Ed. Did you enjoy your work?"

"yes."

I nodded and sat down.

"Are you reading the Bible again?"

"No I'm reading a novel, kidding yes it's a bible, the reason I didn't enter the convent was because of your father, and then because of you. Once you get married, I can safely enter the convent."

"I have a lot of money now, Mom."

"But you don't really have eyes for women, do you?"

No, mother, if you hit me that hard with facts…

"Is there really no girl you like?"

"To be honest, there aren't many women that catch my eye."

"So, go out a little bit. You have to meet women to find women that catch your eye."

"I had one once, but it turned out that she already had a fiancé, so I gave up completely I have to stay Locked in you know. Anyway, I'm going to work."

"I swear sometimes you say the strangest of things" Mother said as I left the room.

The manuscript fee I received is enormous.

The Sherlock Holmes series, the most popular bestseller in human history.

Of course, even if you have the original, copying it is not easy.

In a world where the typewriter had not yet been invented, there was the problem of having to slightly arrange the work to fit the times, so everything had to be written by hand.

Of course, there is a price to pay. Because every 5 words in a manuscript costs 1 pound. Manuscript fees are paid per word.

Simply put, money becomes a copy.

When I came up, I found my desk neatly organized. There were no traces of newspaper scraps, teacups, scone plates, or food scraps, and there were two baskets with paper in a square shape.

"Great job Layla."

"Of course, it had to be done sir." Layla lowered her head.

Layla, the maid hired by my mother.

Although I was not a child anymore, my mother noticed my messy office and gave her a special order and sort of attached her to me in order to make me live like a human being.

And she has been taking care of me more frugally ever since. For now, I'm having her proofread the story of the novel and pick out any inconsistencies or parts that are awkward for people of this generation to comprehend, but once I teach her how to write, I'll have her start branching out outside of just reading. Maybe starting with making copies of manuscripts and correcting typos. I'm thinking of ordering her to my heart's content.

"Bring a dictionary at 6 o'clock."

"All right sir."

Of course, Layla doesn't know my plot, and she just likes the fact that I'm teaching her how to write. She is a student that the 21st century teachers would absolutely adore.

***

"..... do."

"Hey, master."

"What's up?"

"What happens to Irene Adler?"

"Curious I see, well first of all, Irene Adler is alone, and besides, Dr. Watson is also overwhelmed by the idea of someone who is smart and can accept both Mr. Holmes's personality and intelligence, I thought it would be okay to have a woman who influenced Holmes once. What, are you asking me to romantically ship Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes?"

"Do you think a lot of people besides me think that way?"

Well, she's got a point

Even in the 21st century, such reinterpretations abound. In the original work, there were a lot of Sherlockians trying to somehow ship Adler with Holmes even though she married another man, so why wouldn't that be the case here?

"Hmm… But in the story I've conceptualized right now, there's simply no time for Holmes to get married. Not while he's in a battle of wits with his archenemy."

"Oh, that Professor Moriarty innit? Then wouldn't it be okay to defeat Professor Moriarty and then get married? Dr. Watson will be the witness, and since Dr. Watson is also married, Sherlock Holmes will also be the witness."

Hmm, I guess this is the general view of the times.

How can a sane person not get married even though he is not a priest? It simply doesn't make sense.

Of course, Holmes is a person who is not very interested in women, but since Irene Adler is a special case, it can be said that things could change.

To be honest, if I lived in an era where Sherlock Holmes was serialized in real time, I would probably think, 'Ah, the author thought that he should get Adler married to Holmes as well.' I guess I didn't think like this because I'm not from this era originally.

Well, really.

"Layla."

"Yes?"

"What if Irene gives up because she's in Love with someone else, and Holmes dies in the final battle with Professor Moriarty….?"

"Young Lord…"

Layla answered with a very serious expression.

"I can guarantee that stones will come flying at this house."

".... That much? No, that is true, huh."

I heard that the atmosphere was a bit bad after writing the last case in the original story, but was it an empty house adventure that fans were so passionate about that they brought back Holmes to life?

"Uhm...."

"What has the young lord planned?"

"Well that is..."

I briefly told the story of the last incident.

"….. There will be riots in downtown London."

This was Layla's response after hearing those words.

"Come on really?"

"Yes."

Layla said with full confidence.

"...."

I sighed.

"Damn it."

I scratched my head in frustration.

"Do you have any newspapers?"

"I'm sure we received some in the morning. Shall I bring it?"

"Yes, I need to know what's going on in the world so I can write."

Layla immediately ran downstairs.

While I sat down straight away and filled up the ink.

"Damn it, we should invent a typewriter even if it's inconvenient."

When was the typewriter invented in history, will it be soon.

Anyway, to put it bluntly, 'I' can't invent it.

I don't know how to invent it, I don't know the internal structure, I just don't know anything about typewriters.

Of course, there were people in the 19th century who could make a typewriter if they threw money away, but the problem is that that is not me.

"Huah."

Now that I'm truly back in the past, I have more than one regret.

I miss the internet, I miss the computer, and I miss aspirin.

I live in a world where transportation is poor, doctors prescribe drugs, and the nonsense that smoking is good for your health is proudly accepted as orthodoxy.

So why wouldn't I go to the doctor even if I wasn't feeling well? Would I even take the prescribed medicine if I went to the doctor? I knew what was in that medicine.

It's also an age where oriental occultism is also taken seriously… If you show very good exorcism, you'll make quite a living right?

The Victorian Era has not yet arrived, but it will begin soon, and most of our lives will be lived in that Victorian Era.

If I could define the Victorian Era then it would be like this;

The age of hypocrisy.

Society was said to be developing, but many children were dying while working in the mines, and although the Western world was said to be making remarkable progress, the suffering of countless colonies in Asia and Africa was so full that it went up to the point where it even reached the horse's bridle.

Religious solemnity was enforced, but we also know very well that if you go a little further down the back alleys, all kinds of debauchery can be found.

Of course, I have neither the ability nor the will to overthrow all of this.

Still, I'm lucky enough to be on the edge of vested interests.

If I had been thrown out with my bare hands, I might have dreamed of a revolution, but I am a British citizen, the victor of this era, and among them, I have become a famous writer and my family is wealthy. Even though they are semi-ruined, an aristocratic family is still an aristocratic family.

As a prominent figure in society, I am in a position where I can enjoy life and then die of old age. World War I? World War II? Do you want me to see that? I was born in the year 1808.

I have to be 106 years old to see World War I, and considering the average life expectancy of this era, there is a 99% chance that I will die of old age before then. Needless to say, World War II.

Didn't Louis XIV also say this? 'It is none of my business whether a great flood occurs after I die or not.'

Well, I'm going to live peacefully. Quietly, sucking up as much sweet honey as possible from society, because that is my own insignificant character Viscount Gentian's way.

'Who knows, perhaps history can be distorted because of one writer.'

I chuckled. These were degrees of delusion.

'I'm not a politician, just a novelist. Well, I don't know if it was God or the devil who sent me to the past, but if they wanted me to properly turn history over, they would have let me be reborn as the child of a prestigious family or as a person in power. I am but a fallen noble who may or may not have existed in the original history.'

Is that possible? With that thought in mind, I leaned back comfortably.

Just then, footsteps were heard coming up the stairs, and Layla opened the door.

"I brought you a newspaper sir."

"Thank you."

"It was no trouble at all, can I get you something to drink? Every time you read the newspaper, you always look for something to drink."

"Um, just bring me a glass of water."

"All right."